Me: House was released. I am running away from your scary painting.
Jen: Then its job is done. ;-)
Me: What? No more wine for you.
Jen: Speaking of
No. She wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Well, I didn’t have Hailey, so I could, but I shouldn’t. Darn it. I just talked myself into it and she didn’t even finish the question. I had a weak soul when my child was away.
Jen: The Pub?
Me: You are a horrible influence. I need to be home by nine. I have to come in early tomorrow to ride extra horses due to missing rides yesterday.
Jen: Boo! Ten.
Me: Nine.
Jen: Hot new bartender…
Me: Please! Like I care about men. I am old now.
Jen: You are thirty. Everything still works, I assure you.
Me: I assure you the new twenty-something hottie is too young. I am not a cougar.
Jen: If he is as cute as they say, you could be. If you gained another ten years.
Me: Nope. There isn’t a level of that hot outside of movies.
And detectives, evidently.
Jen: See you in an hour?
Me: Roger that.
An hour? I could do that. Throwing my things in the truck from this morning, I drove for home. I was unreasonably happy about opening my garage door and pulling my truck in, but I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at my porch. Just in case.
I was happy to see no body parts.
An hour later, showered and with light makeup, I was ready to go out. As I studied myself in the mirror, I took in my green eyes, accented nicely with mascara, and my brown hair looked more golden brown than dirt brown today. I used to dye it blonder when I was in San Francisco, but since moving here I had let it revert to its natural color, which was somewhere between a dark strawberry blond and brown. Most days it was brown more than it was anything else. I was satisfied with my outfit. Tight jeans that accented my butt with a low-cut black shirt and my only pair of black heels. I was hot-ish. Okay, maybe I only rated a ‘looking good,’ but I was happy. Pulling my keys off the hook and grabbing my clutch purse, I walked out the front door, heading to the bar by foot.
And I tripped over something on the porch. Oh god, no.
I looked down. Sure enough, it was an arm.
Are you freaking kidding me?
I stopped moving and debated how to get myself out of this one. I already ‘touched’ the body part, so maybe if I stepped out of my shoes, leaving them where they were, I might not contaminate this too much?
Where did I go wrong in life?
This time I didn’t mess with 911. I spoke as soon as John answered the phone.
“Hey, John? Would you mind coming over to my house again? And bring your crew.”
“Shit, Lark. Again?”
“Well, it's an arm this time. Does that change anything?”
“This is sick.”
That was not the word to use right now. It was a good thing I had an iron stomach after years of working with animals that thought it was fun to cut themselves open right before a big show.
“Yeah, okay. Well, this time I tripped over it, but I’m leaving my shoes and going to The Pub. If you need me, you can find me there.”
“Lark, you can’t—" I hung up. There was no way I was waiting around for Creepy and the CSI team. I hesitated. But Captain would probably come, too… No, I wasn’t that desperate. I didn’t want a man. Men weren’t worth the time or effort. I had already given enough of both to my ex. Even men who looked like movie stars.
I was pretty sure.
Finding new shoes that were… well, sneakers, I headed back to the door. Turns out all I had were riding boots and these running shoes. Jesus, I needed to buy new shoes. I wouldn’t get the pair that just touched a dead body back any time soon. I hesitated and thought about that for a moment. On second thought, I didn’t know that I wanted them back. It was worth dipping into my savings to get dead-body-cooties-free shoes.
I was about to walk out the door when John pulled up, a second car pulling in behind him. Dagnabit. John got out of his car with a big smile, which only grew bigger as he took in my appearance and my frown. Captain got out of the second car, giving me a suspicious glare as he walked up.
Yes. I did it and then left the evidence on my porch. Multiple times. You caught me. Maybe we could use the handcuffs to—
Oh my god! I was hopeless.
“Why, hello there. Going somewhere?” John said as he sauntered up my walkway.
“Not anymore,” I muttered back.
“So, you found the arm this time? I don’t suppose this will be a recurring delivery?” John said, still smiling at my expense.
“Do I have to wait for the coroner this time?” I gave him my best sweet, innocent look. His expression didn’t change. Maybe sweet and innocent didn’t work as well after thirty. Stupid getting older.
“Nope. Just need you to answer some questions and you’ll be on your way.”
“Good. I have a lot of alcohol to consume now.” Speaking of… I lifted my hand to ask for a moment while I took my phone out and texted Jen.
Me: Hey, so I have an arm situation. I will be a little late.
Jen: No. Please tell me you didn’t get a new delivery.
Me: Oh… and I need to stay with you tonight. Even with the scary picture.
Jen: Can you opt out of the special delivery option? Or is there a request line to switch it from body parts to wine?
Me: You are horrible. I have horrible friends. What happened? I had normal friends in the city.
Jen: Did you really?
I thought about it.
Me: Maybe not. Christy would have gone all Nancy Drew on it. Also, remind me not to tell her.
Jen: Oh my god. I just squirted alcohol out my nose. That burns.
Me: Laugh it up. I hate you.
Jen: Get here and I will buy you the first round.
Me: I will as soon as I can.
“You done with your social life?” Captain asked, as I put away my phone. I lifted an eyebrow at his aggressive tone but stayed passive.
“Well, since I’m going to assume you will need the house tonight—” I looked at John for confirmation and sighed at his nod. “Then, yes. I had to find a place to stay tonight.”
“Are you staying with your boyfriend?”
My other eyebrow joined the first. Boyfriend? I thought I had been pretty clear I was not interested in dating anyone the first time we talked. Then again—
“I thought I was having a hot affair with the victim,” I challenged him.
“I never said it was exclusive.”
Did he just call me a slut?
“Maybe this is too hard for you city folk to understand, but around here we are one-person people.” John coughed hard. Oh yeah. “Okay, most of the people—” More coughing. John and I needed to have a talk later. “Okay, me. I’m a one-man woman!”
“Well, you said you turned him down. Who did you turn him down for?”
“No one! Been there, done that, got the lawyer bills to prove it. No men.”
“Okay, so a girlfriend?”
“Yeah, I’m meeting up with Jen—” They both looked at me with a mix of shock and what briefly appeared as amused interest. I caught myself. “Girl-space-friend! My best friend, Jen! You dirty-minded… minded… men!” Yeah, that told them. I seriously needed to work on my inner sarcasm. I turned and walked inside the entryway of my house, leaving the door open for them to follow.
“So, no romantic entanglements?” Captain asked.
“No. None. No romance, no roses, no cuddling by the fire, no men.”
“Or women.”
“Or women.”
“Okay. Glad we got that straight.”
Really? Because I was feeling pathetic now. “Good.”
“So, you were going to meet Jen—?” Captain prompted me.
“Jennifer Ward,” I answered.
“You were going to meet Miss War
d at a local restaurant?”
“The Pub.” That got him looking at me again. Not that I cared. Or could want his attention on me and only me. Because being the center of such intense focus wasn’t sexy at all. Did it get hot in here all of a sudden?
“I assume that’s a nickname? Like Tops?”
“Nope. That’s it. Just The Pub. Joe thinks it gives it pizzazz.”
“He’s wrong.”
“He’s British. He doesn’t care,” I answered. Captain looked at me with his nose crinkled and his head slightly cocked to the side.
“What does being British have to do with the name?”
“It has to do more with him not caring about the name. He says, quote, ‘I’m British. If I want to call it The Bar in my local language, I will.’ End quote.”
“He realizes that we all speak English, right?”
“I dare you to say that to him. Please. When I’m there to watch it. In fact,” I went to my purse and brought out twenty dollars, “I bet you.”
“I’m guessing he had strong opinions,” Captain said, resigned.
“A few,” I said evasively. John snickered. Hold it in, John. You’re giving away the game.
“I think I’ll pass.”
“Darn.” I put my money away. “Okay, let’s get this over with. What do you need to know?”
“When did you get home?” John asked, all emotion hidden behind his serious face.
“About 5:15.”
“And did you check the front porch when you came in?”
“Yep. Nothing there.” This got me their full attention.
“You checked the front when you came in and there was nothing?” John repeated.
“Yep.” I watched them both take this in and look at each other. I didn’t like their expressions. “You guys want to share why you look like that?”
“Well—” John looked sympathetic. That wasn’t good. Then he looked at the ground instead of my eyes. Oh god.
“Lark, can I ask when your daughter will be back?” Captain asked.
Oh god!
“Friday.” My voice was clipped from fear.
“Can she stay at your ex’s for longer?”
“Yes.” I just had to confess to my ex that someone was leaving me body parts, and pray that he didn’t go to the lawyers.
“I would make that call.” Captain gave me a look that said he understood it would be hard.
“Do you have kids?” I asked him.
“No.”
“Wife? Ex-wife?”
“Long-time girlfriend once. But she is long gone.” Oh no. I was way too interested in his answer. “But my sister is divorced. She has issues with her ex and they fight about custody all the time. I get it.”
It was hard to imagine anyone ‘got it’ until they were in the middle of a divorce, but at least he empathized.
“Thanks. Do you guys need anything else?”
“Do you get drug tested when you compete?” Holy segue, Batman.
“Not normally, no. Just the horses.” He had opened his mouth to continue but stopped and looked at me in confusion.
“They test the horses, but not the people?” he asked.
“Yep.” Even John looked a little confused, so I continued. “What drugs would the humans take that would help? We only care about the horse.”
“Steroids don’t help the rider?” Captain asked.
“No, not really.” More staring. Explanation time. “Okay, so technically, they can test any FEI rider at any time, at competition or at home. So, yes, they could test me for drugs, but they don’t. Only at the Olympic level. Maybe at some international events, but I haven't gone to any yet.” Maybe next year, with my horse Bob. He may never be Olympic quality, but we could hold our own.
“And you have never been tested?”
“No.”
“Have you ever done any drugs?”
“Other than prescribed medication and Advil, no.” Drugs and horses didn’t mix well.
“And have you ever procured drugs with the intent to sell?”
What the hell?
“No. You think I’m a drug dealer?” I pinned John with a glare, and he looked down at his shoes. Yeah, not going to let him get out of it that easy. “John? You think I’m dealing drugs?”
“No. We just had to ask.”
“Why?”
“The reason is confidential.”
“Oh no. You just accused me of dealing drugs, and I want to know why. Was Bryan dealing drugs?”
“Lark, it’s better if you don’t know. Lack of knowledge helps you.”
“Fine. I’ll ask Lindsey.”
John winced before muttering, “Please don’t.”
“She knows nothing. Don’t bother. Everything in this case is confidential,” Captain answered at the same time as John. We both turned to look at him. He actually believed what he had just said. Poor, poor man.
Ding!
I didn’t even need to look to know Lindsey had posted a new article. I just handed the phone to Captain, reading it over his shoulder. His extremely broad shoulders.
Giving an Arm and a Leg
At 5:46 Wednesday, Lark Davis got a jump start on her newest collection as someone has now sent her an arm and a leg. Like the leg from yesterday, they left the arm on her doorstep. However, this time Lark called the investigating detective directly to report the find, a move that has disappointed everyone who got to hear her 911 call from before. We believe that the victim is Bryan Wilson. The barista at Topped Off Coffee Pot has been missing since Sunday after his shift. Laura has no comment, nor are the police releasing any information at this time. We will update you as soon as we have more details.
“You were saying?” I asked as he finished reading, his face red. He ignored me to turn to John.
“How did she get all this information?” he demanded. John was less than impressed with his anger.
“She has double-Ds, good looks, and a flirty demeanor. And she is the Chief’s godchild. What Lindsey wants, she gets.” John shrugged and leaned back.
I hadn’t known about the godchild thing, but it explained a lot.
“That is unacceptable!” Cap stormed away, throwing his hands in the air and muttering to himself. I was impressed that even in his anger he carefully stepped over the arm before continuing back outside to rant in semi-private. Probably not the time to tell him my neighbors listened to everything.
“Why’s he here again?” I asked as we watched his tantrum. He even complained like Captain America. He must be a fan of Marvel. I made a note to ask him.
“Off the record?” Code for ‘don’t tell Lindsey.’
“Always,” I replied.
“Bryan was his cousin. His parents made him come when Bryan missed his phone call Sunday night.” John turned to walk deeper into my living room, settling in on a couch.
“Bryan was that close to his parents? Wow. Didn’t peg him as being, well, close to his family. He never mentioned them.”
“Called them every Sunday night. Like clockwork.”
“Interesting. Most people do nothing ‘like clockwork,’” I quipped.
“Yeah. Must have had an alert or something. Every Sunday, 7 p.m.”
“So, you think he was already dead by then?”
“Probably. The leg was too compromised to give us anything—”
“John!” Cap growled at us.
Oops. I guess we weren’t supposed to gossip about the time of death.
“Sorry, Breck,” John said, keeping his cool in a way I have always envied. Unless I’m on a horse, I lost it when someone talked to me like that.
“Breck?” I asked.
“Short for Brecken.” That got me a look from both like I was an idiot. Okay, so I’d forgotten the guy’s name, again. I’m sure I wasn’t the first one to do that?
“You didn’t remember his name, did you?” John whispered when Cap, aka ‘Breck,’ wasn’t looking, watching my face a little too closely. I needed to pull my profes
sional face out when dealing with law enforcement.
“Yes, I did!” Not at all. “Brecken Wilson. Detective with the Sheriff's Department, based in the city. Plays lacrosse. Divorced sister with a kid.” Too much information. Dang. I overplayed my hand. John just smiled with victory. Then his smile took a vicious turn, as he noticed my Avengers movie sitting on the coffee table. After looking from the cover to Brecken and back again, he glanced at me. For the second time this week, not cleaning up had come back to bite me. Lesson learned.
“Captain America, huh?”
Shiitake mushrooms! My mistake was calling him Captain during the first interview at the barn. One day I would learn to keep my mouth shut.
“Captain Who? I have no idea what you are talking about.”
He chuckled at me, but Captain—no, Brecken—just looked confused. Thank god.
“I don’t even want to know what you two are whispering about. Lark, what time did you find the arm?” Brecken asked with a sigh.
“About thirty seconds before I called you, so,” I looked at my phone. “6:02 p.m.”
“And you’re sure it wasn’t here at 5:15?”
“Yep.”
“Did you see anyone drive up?”
“Nope, but they could have when I was in the shower and I wouldn’t have noticed.” Breck nodded, writing in a notebook he pulled out of his back pocket.
“Okay, Lark, I think we are done with you. John, do you know where she’s staying tonight?”
“Yep,” John answered.
“Good. Thank you for your time. I will see you soon with more questions.”
“Great. Mind if I go grab a change of clothing for tonight? Again.” I was bitter, really bitter. But life didn’t care about my feelings. Or at least this killer didn’t. I turned around and went back to my room, grabbing clothing and stuffing them into the same overnight bag I had used yesterday.
I had just finished putting my shirt and toiletries in my bag and was grabbing my underwear when I realized that Cap— Brecken, had followed me into my room. Where I was now standing, holding my underwear in front of me, like a flag. Fudge buckets of biscuits. We both turned a color red that shouldn’t be natural on people.
“I didn’t—we needed—you need to be escorted, so I—" He stumbled to a stop, his eyes stuck on the slip of fabric in front of me.
“Yeah. Got it.” Why wasn’t I moving? Or him? One of us needed to move. Instead he stared at my underwear and I stared at him. Was his gaze heated? It wasn’t that surprising that I was attracted to him. If anyone was going to pull my comatose sex drive out of its slumber, it was the man in front of me, but for him to be interested in me? I didn’t know what to do.
Leg Up Page 5
